


Deflection

by Geriatricfool



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geriatricfool/pseuds/Geriatricfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise crew are unhappy about Spock's unfriendly attitude towards Nurse Chapel; McCoy feels that action should be taken. But he may not know the full story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deflection

Deflection  
Part 1

“Di Matteo, quit collecting, we’ve got enough ore samples. Kirk to Enterprise, do you read? Enterprise! Damn, this interference…Kirk to.. ah, Enterprise, prepare to beam up landing party. Sulu! Ready. Enterprise – Spock! You’re hurt!”  
The effortless stream of orders and comments ceased abruptly, as Kirk noticed for the first time the broad trickle of dark green blood emerging from the sleeve of Spock’s Science-blue sleeve. “Spock! What have you done? What’s happened?”  
“Captain.” The measured dark brown voice cut predictably over the sound of Kirk’s stress. “I suggest we beam up before any further time is lost with its ensuant risk to communications...”  
“Kirk to Enterprise. Five to beam up. Have a medical team standing by.”  
“Captain, I assure you there is n….”  
The remainder of Spock’s objections were cut off by the whine of the transporter beam, only to continue as the landing party materialized safely on the Enterprise transporter pads.  
“….o need for any medical…”  
“Scotty, good work. Sulu, Di Matteo, get those samples to the labs. Bones! You have a patient.”  
“Captain!” Both Kirk and McCoy turned sharply towards Spock at the peremptory tone, Kirk in some surprise and McCoy with evident pleasure at Spock’s discomfiture. “Captain,” Spock continued, calm again and implacable. “Doctor, I regret that your time has been wasted. I assure you I have no need…”  
“Spock, you’ll get yourself to Sickbay this minute. I can’t risk an unexamined wound turning nasty and resulting in my First Officer losing precious time away from his post, now can I.”  
“What did you do anyhow, Spock?” McCoy tried to grasp the arm but was prevented from doing so by Spock’s uncannily timely move towards the transporter room doors. “Hey!”  
“Spock, now!”  
Spock glared at his Captain in sure defeat. “Captain, Doctor, I can promise you that I will report to Sickbay as soon as…”  
“Now, Spock!”   
Spock paused, his back to the assembled group of officers; said back as upright and rigid as if he had swallowed a metre rule, distaste and irritation forming a veritable force field around him. Kirk and McCoy fought to swallow giggles, like cadets in class in fresher year. Kirk pressed his lips hard together, opened his mouth, didn’t trust his voice not to wobble, coughed loudly and took a deep breath. The moment was over. “Spock, I’ll expect you on the Bridge when you’ve been checked out.”  
“Sir.”   
Even the swish of the door sounded angry.  
Kirk and Mccoy were free to grin and they did so, as they moved together out of the transporter room. “What is his problem?” Kirk asked, almost rhetorically, as they walked the corridor.  
“Search me. He acts like he’s allergic to Sickbay.”  
“Perhaps he is.”  
“Now you’re being ridiculous. It’s his goddam pride. No true Vulcan should ever see the inside of Sickbay…”  
“That’s illogical.”  
“No need to start sounding like him…”  
“No, I mean, it is illogical. He’s in a job that puts him in danger. He’d have to be prepared to need medical help sometimes. It’s not logical to object like he does.”  
“Well, you find out what it’s all about then. I’ll just go in and fix that arm of his. If he lets me anywhere near him, that is. This is my stop.”  
McCoy threw a wave over his shoulder as he turned down the corridor to Sickbay, Kirk continuing down towards Turbolift 4 and the Bridge.   
As soon McCoy entered Sickbay he looked around for the Vulcan. Spock was sitting on a biobed, dressed in his black undershirt, his blue Science tunic next to him on the bed, green bloodstains evident one sleeve. “Spock,” McCoy greeted him. “So glad you could make it!”  
The look with which Spock greeted this piece of bonhomie would have frozen sizeable portions of the Vulcan Forge.  
“Let’s see your arm.”  
The arm was unwillingly extended, the face immobile and the eyes straight ahead. McCoy tutted as he gently turned the arm this way and that. “Spock, this is a nasty gash – it’s deep, it’s just missed a tendon and it’s threatening infection. We’ll get it cleaned up and closed right away. I have to finish the Psych reports - Christine will do it. Nurse Chapel,” this last through to the next room where his Head Nurse was presumably working. The Stone Man came unwillingly to life.  
“Doctor, there is no need to trouble the nurse. I can come back…”  
“Spock!” Two orderlies across the other side of the room turned in surprise, and McCoy forced himself to continue more calmly. “You will have that arm seen to, you will have it seen to now, and you will have it seen to by Nurse Chapel. Who is here now.” He turned, and smiled at the Head Nurse, noting as he did so the lines of tension in her face and the unnaturally upright stance. “Chris, Spock’s arm needs attention, would you see to it?” He drew back, to leave them together.  
And watched, in successfully concealed dismay, as Spock seemed to draw away from the nurse without actually moving at all. And saw, with a more overt concern, the flash of distress flicker across her features, to be almost instantly controlled and dismissed with as much skill as any Vulcan could demonstrate. McCoy’s blood inwardly boiled. ‘The cold blooded callous pointy-eared… She’s there to help! She deserves better than this..’  
But he said none of this, because he didn’t want to humiliate his Head Nurse any further than she already was. It was not in his imagination that her blue eyes glistened, but he knew that Spock would not have noticed, intent as he was in directing his flint gaze away from her and across at some fascinating storage cupboards.  
“Mr Spock.” Her voice was even and calm. “May I have your arm?”  
He extended the wounded arm towards her without a word.  
Once McCoy was sure that the Vulcan was prepared to submit to treatment with no further objection, he moved back into his office. And sat, psych reports untouched, anger broiling in him.   
“She has done nothing to warrant such behaviour from him! She’s been completely professional towards him, as she always is…”  
“Maybe it’s after the Psi 2000 mess when she…”  
“No, of course it isn’t that.” As always, McCoy and Kirk interrupted each other, talked over each other, broke in on one another, completely comfortable with each other. McCoy topped up Kirk’s glass of Bourbon. “They were fine after that. She told me so herself. She felt terrible after she’d told him she loved him, but the two of them worked it out. No, I tell you what it’s since.” McCoy took a sip of his drink as he nodded. “It’s since Platonius.”  
“But…. that wasn’t her fault.”  
“Of course it wasn’t her fault. Any more than it was Uhura’s fault. Or yours. But I’ve noticed it since then. Jim, I sometimes want to wring his neck!”  
“Only sometimes?” McCoy allowed himself to return a small smile in answer to Jim’s own amused grin, but his trademark scowl soon returned. “Jim, I’ve seen her. She goes about her work as she always does, and he treats her as if she’s….I don’t know…”  
McCoy paused, remembering all the little incidents which he realised had piled up in recent months: the time Christine had been assigned to the mission on Kappa Nine along with Spock and himself, and how they’d sat next to each other without saying a single word the whole time, Spock staring straight ahead and Chris pretending she didn’t even notice, which he knew she did. The time Spock flatly refused his post mission check up until M’Benga began his shift, despite the fact that Christine was free. The time….  
“Bones,” Kirk drained his glass and set it down on the table in front of him with an authoritative thump. “What do you want? Do you want me to try to do something about it? Speak to him? What can I do? Accuse him of being Vulcan?”  
“I don’t know, Jim. I don’t know. And he’s not being Vulcan. He’s being rude. I’ve talked to her. She just says it’s up to him how he behaves and she’s fine anyway. But I can see how upset she is, to be treated like that by someone we all know she cares about, when she’s never done anything but be completely professional. I care about her, Jim. She’s had a rough time and she’s been braver than most of us could be. I’m worried she might even transfer off.”  
“You think she might?” The Captain sounded concerned for the first time since the conversation began, at the end of his shift when the two had repaired to his quarters for a drink and a wind-down.  
McCoy shrugged. “Don’t know, Jim. But I don’t know how many more implied insults she’s inclined to take.”

 

Part 2

Commander Spock walked purposefully along the corridor, a PADD in his left hand and his eyes fixed ahead. As he passed one particular door on his left hand side, he palmed the door control almost without slowing his walk, and moved through the opening door without breaking step. Once inside, anyone watching him, and no-one was watching him, would have seen him immediately relax, apparently from head to toe; his shoulders dropping, the almost military bearing of the head softening, and the PADD cast sightlessly aside as though held had no further interest for him. He walked further into the empty cabin, his gaze automatically scanning every object as though looking for changes since his last time there; or checking that there had been none. All seemed as it should be.  
Spock wandered towards the sleeping area. Unmistakable sounds from the bathroom told him that the usual occupant of the room was taking a shower. A glance towards the closed bathroom door, and then he moved closer to the bed.   
Without any shift in his facial muscles, his expression somehow morphed into one of utter distaste.  
He reached forward and, gingerly and with fastidious care, he picked up the teddy bear which had been propped on the bed against the pillow. He plumped the toy between his two hands. He carefully peered under the bear’s gold command tunic. He turned the bear over.   
It growled.  
There was no doubt about it. Spock’s nose wrinkled in dislike and disdain.  
“Awww,” came the voice from the bathroom doorway. “You’re playing with teddy bears. How sweet!”  
Spock turned around to look at the speaker, his expression even more pained, for anyone attuned to the extreme subtleties of Vulcan facial nuances. “Christine, why have you got this…..”  
“Teddy bear,” she helpfully supplied, beaming at him as she towel-dried her hair.  
He sighed. ”I know it is a teddy bear. I merely wondered why it is here. And dressed in this…”  
“It’s Komack.”  
Both his eyebrows rocketed skywards. “Komack?”  
“Yes, he’s Admiral Komack. Don’t you think he’s cute?”  
“I do not.” Spock was now looking at the bear down his nose. “I do however wonder why you have an ursine representation of Admiral Komack on your bed?”  
Christine finished rubbing at her hair, and ran both hands through it to fluff it up and out. The vigorous movement slightly dislodged the towel which was wrapped round her; Spock found his attention drawn insistently away from the bear. Her smile shifted, and she moved closer to him. He in turn leaned in towards her, and she shivered at the sensation of his lips lightly brushing that curve between her shoulder and the base of her neck. She reached one arm around his neck and whispered near to his ear, “Go and have a shower.”  
He drew back and almost, but not quite, blinked in surprise. “Do I need one?”  
“I expect you do. Dusty planet surface, nasty injury – how is your arm now, anyway?”  
Spock flexed the arm and looked at it. “It is almost healed now, thanks to your expert ministrations.” His mouth resumed its exploration of her shoulder, taking a downward path this time, but paused at the sound of a very real sigh from the expert nurse. “Christine?”  
“Spock, this is getting to be such a strain! Having to keep up the misery and woe every minute I’m with you out there. I’m getting a bad back faking all the tension. And I hate it that Len’s so angry with you all the time! No!” She drew back from him at the half smile engendered at the thought of the perpetually angry Dr McCoy, and grasped both his arms tightly. “It isn’t funny, Spock, and you know it isn’t. How long will it be before he tries to get the Captain in on it?” Spock pursed his lips into a thin line at that remark and she could see that she had at last hit home. “Spock, when can we go public on this? I’m really not sure how long I can keep up the act, even if you can go on for ever. God knows, you’re pretty duplicitous…. designing….calculating….”  
“I get your point, Christine,” he put in firmly. “And I can assure you that I do not derive enjoyment from the deception, whatever you may think.”  
“No, I’m sorry. I know you don’t.” She moved in close to him again, and wrapped both arms around his neck, as he slid his arms around her waist and drew her in against him. “I know. It’s just…”  
The deep, slow kiss interrupted whatever she had been going to say, and lasted long enough for her to forget what it was going to be anyway.  
The towel had become looser.  
“Ummph,” she said, a while later.  
“Go and have your shower,” a little while after that.  
Spock began to move away from her whilst his mouth still caressed hers; they broke the kiss as he continued backwards towards the bathroom, and the expression in his eyes sent her temperature soaring. Just as he reached the bathroom door he realised that he was still holding the bear, and the passion in the eyes died somewhat. He placed Admiral Komack none too gently on the dresser by the bathroom door.  
“Oh, thank you. I wouldn’t want him to get wet.”  
The door closed. As it did so, it was surely only in her imagination that she heard the muttered words “I could drown him”.  
Christine chuckled, very quietly, as she moved around the cabin, clearing up, putting on the knee-length cerise nightgown he’d so effectively admired last time he was able to visit, and determining to herself that she was not going to allow him to distract her so easily next time she broached the subject of allowing their relationship to become known. It was true what she had said to him; it was becoming too much of a strain for her to maintain, and she detested the bad feeling it was engendering among the people she so cared about. Whatever the reasons….  
The bathroom door reopened. For a few moments, lucid thoughts were driven from her mind by the sight of the white towel riding low on Spock’s slim hips, and his usually immaculate black hair mussed and untidy from being rubbed dry after the shower. She stood rooted to the spot as his gaze met hers while he crossed the room towards her. It began to filter through to her overheated consciousness, however, that he knew exactly the effect his reappearance was having on her and that he had calculated it to the last degree in order to deflect further conversation on the subject of McCoy and his understandably misjudged campaign on behalf of his Head Nurse. Christine took a deliberate step back. “Spock. We must talk.”  
“You are wearing that nightgown.”  
“Yes, I know. Spock!”  
“Christine…” His voice was as deep and as velvet as she had ever heard it, his lips against her ear, and she heard her own breath shudder and break.  
“Spock!! The nightgown goes in the recycler if you don’t just listen to me!”  
He stepped back a little, he sighed a little, and he pursed his lips so that the dimple she loved appeared on his left cheek. “You are a determined woman, Christine.”  
“I am. It’s one of the things you love best about me, isn’t it.”  
“Hmmm.”  
“Spock, I’m fed up with this.”  
“I know. It is not an easy….”  
“No! Spock, give me one good reason, I mean good reason, why we have to carry on keeping it secret. You’re not in my direct command, we’re not breaking any regulations, we….”  
“I need to wait until,” Spock took a deep breath, and his strong hands clasped her shoulders as he looked searchingly into her blue eyes. “Until I am officially divorced…”  
“I thought…” Christine spluttered, but he nodded in quick anticipation of what she was about to say.  
“I am no longer bound to T’Pring. But there is a… a waiting time – a time when my family are entitled to put forward other names for me to consider – No ,Christine, I will not consider them, of course I will not - it will not be long – it will satisfy the most tradition-bound on Vulcan, and then we can properly announce our bonding.” He peered at her, anxiously. There was no doubt, he looked anxious. Christine’s proficiency in expression reading was coming along in leaps and bounds.  
“Spock, are you sure? There’s nothing you haven’t told me about this?”  
“Do you not think you would have seen it in the link? I…”  
“You have a lifetime’s practise at shielding. I wouldn’t know if there was something you really wanted to hide!”  
“Christine!”  
She had twisted free of his hands and stood now with her back to him, staring sightlessly at the wall above the bed.   
“Christine.” His voice was quiet, deep, even. “You know you can trust me. You know it.”  
There fell a further pause.   
“What other names?”  
Unseen behind her, Spock’s dimple revealed itself again as he half smiled, half grimaced. “I have no idea.”  
“But…”  
“I have no wish to know them. I must simply wait until the Clan consider their duty discharged.”  
Another pause. Then, “How long?”  
“From now, twenty eight point three nine standard days.”  
Christine finally turned to face him. The luminous blue eyes were still glistening. “Twenty eight point three…?”  
“Twenty eight point three nine.” His head was tilted so slightly to one side, and his eyes were warm and caressing.  
“And then, we can….”  
His head dipped almost imperceptibly, but she saw it; and pounced. “There is something else, I knew it! You don’t want to tell them, never mind the other names and the Clan. You don’t…”  
“Christine,” he finally halted the diatribe. “Christine, there is not anything else. I…” He sighed, a sharply frustrated, resigned and distinctly Human sigh. He looked almost pleadingly into her eyes; if Vulcans could possibly look pleading.   
“Spock…” Her warning tone was unmistakable. He thought about the recycler.  
“I am… I am not…..”  
“Spock!”  
“I am not looking forward to the inevitable…glee…of the good Doctor when he is informed of the nature of our relationship.”  
All thoughts of the recycler evaporated in her relief at his undeniably sheepish confession and in her considerable sympathy with his foreboding. She moved swiftly towards him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. His arms in turn encircled her waist, and they stood pressed close together, united, and relieved that truths were finally out, motionless in the centre of the cabin, her face nuzzled into his neck and his cheek against her hair. “It’ll be alright,” she muttered indistinctly, and heard another sigh.  
“Christine, why do Humans say that phrase so often, and with such conviction, and with so little evidence to support it?”  
She raised her head, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “It will be okay. It will.” She paused. “Once he’s got it out of his system.”   
Spock looked skywards.  
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go to bed.” She slowly slid her hands down his bare shoulders and arms, and took one hand to lead him towards the sleeping area. His hand tightened on hers as he followed her towards the bed.  
He stopped moving, and she turned in surprise. “Spock?”  
“I put that thing over there!”  
“Huh? Wha..?” She looked over at her dresser where he was pointing so urgently, and then back at him. “What did you….oh!” She grinned at him. “Admiral Komack. I was tidying. He doesn’t belong over there.” She peered closely at him. “Spock? What is it? It’s only a teddy bear.”  
“I am aware…”  
“Yes, I know you know what it is – we’ve been here before. There’s no need to be so grumpy about him.”  
“Vulcans do not get ‘grumpy’….”  
“I think the half Human ones might do sometimes. Get over it! What is your problem with him?” She picked the bear up from the bed and squeezed it round its middle.  
Spock took a deep breath. Christine reflected that, if he’d looked sheepish before, he looked ten times more so now. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle.  
“Christine – Christine, I am…. confused… as to why you wish to…go to sleep cuddling Admiral Komack.”  
Spock’s stone Vulcan mask was strangely at odds with the ruffled hair and the increasingly loose white bath towel around his waist. For infinitesimally brief, but sweet, moments, a random series of holo newsvid headlines flashed through her mind:   
“Scion of leading Vulcan noble Clan jealous of teddy bear!”  
“First Officer of Federation flagship in Teddy controversy!”  
“Head Nurse resigns – ‘The Vulcan destroyed my bear!”  
“It was the bear or me” –Disgraced Vulcan Commander confesses!!!  
“I don’t,” she replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “I put him on the floor.”  
She watched, as the stone Vulcan mask relaxed and her Spock reappeared. “Ah,” he said, a possible note of satisfaction in his tone. “An eminently more appropriate place for him.”  
She regarded him for a further moment, and then reached a decision. “Or, “ she continued, not taking her eyes from his, “we could put him on this chair here,” she indicated the little chair near the head of the bed. “Where he could watch.”  
She had not indeed taken her eyes from his, and therefore did not miss the sudden gleam in the dark depths. She took his hand once more and drew him nearer to the bed, their eyes still locked together. She reached across with her other arm, and carefully placed the bear on the chair, propping him so that his black button eyes were trained on the bed. “Is that a good place?”  
Spock drew a deep and shuddering breath. He ran his hands down the back of the nightgown, and then drew them back up, bringing the hem up with them. He clasped her bare buttocks, eased her back onto the bed, sliding the nightgown up, up, baring her breasts, nuzzling them each in turn, as the towel finally gave up at Christine’s insistent tug and fell unnoticed to the floor.   
“Then we must be sure to give ‘him’ something to watch,” he whispered, before rational conversation ceased for the rest of the night.


End file.
